“She’s got reason for them. I talked her into coming here, to you, because she needs help. And because I’m in love with her.”
Anson let out a breath, took a long swallow of beer. “What kind of trouble is she in?”
“I want her to tell you, and I need you to hear her out. All the way. I’m counting on you, Captain.”
“She’s not from around here, or up where you come from, either.”
“No, but Bickford’s her home now. We both want it to stay that way.”
They heard the gate open and shut. Huck’s head went up—not at the sound, Anson knew—at the scent.
Anson’s eyebrows lifted when Abigail walked around the house with Bert.
“That’s one big, handsome bastard.”
“He’s very well behaved,” Abigail assured him.“Ami,”she said when Huck, quivering, walked over to sniff the newcomer.“Ami. Jouer.”
Tails slashing the air, the dogs sniffed each other. Huck walked over to the fence line, lifted his leg. Bert followed suit. Then they wrestled.
“Huck’s got some life in him yet.” Anson offered Abigail the lemonade, gestured to a seat. “Brooks said you had a story to tell me, Abigail.”
“Yes. I should start by saying my name isn’t Abigail Lowery. Technically. It’s Elizabeth Fitch. When I was sixteen I witnessed a man named Yakov Korotkii, who is a lieutenant in the Volkov crime organization, murder his cousin Alexi Gurevich and my friend Julie Masters.”
Anson sat back. After a moment, he glanced at Brooks. “You did say a lot.”
Then he turned those steely eyes back on Abigail. “Why don’t you tell me about that?”
25
She couldn’t know if hebelieved her. His face showed nothing, no surprise, no doubt, no understanding. As Brooks had, he interrupted the flow a few times with questions, then only nodded so she’d continue.
Before she finished, the dogs came back for rubs, and were both sprawled out, exhausted from the play, when she stopped.
“I remember some of what you’re telling me,” Anson began. “It was big news at the time, especially within law enforcement. Two U.S. Marshals killed, another wounded, the witness in a mob-related double murder missing. Your name and face were all over the national media for some weeks, and there were a number of interagency memos on you.”
“Yes, I know.”
“As well as an outstanding warrant for fleeing a scene. A BOLO and APB. You’re wanted for questioning in the matter of those agents’ deaths, and the explosion of the safe house.”
Her fingers linked together, painfully tight, in her lap. “Interoffice communication indicates that Keegan and Cosgrove have been taken at their word. Wanted for questioningis simply a ruse in order to charge me for murder, or accessory to murder.”
“How would you be privy to interoffice communication?”
Saying nothing, Brooks reached over, unlaced her fingers, kept his hand on hers.
“I’m a computer scientist, and specialize in security. I’m also a hacker.”
“And you’re telling me you can access confidential files and memos inside the U.S. Marshals Service and the FBI?”
“Yes. I’m very skilled, and this has been a priority for me. Both Keegan and Cosgrove made statements that claim they came in, found Terry down in the kitchen and her weapon missing. As they began to call it in, they were fired on by persons unknown, and Cosgrove sustained a wound. As Keegan returned fire, the lights went out. Keegan was able to get Cosgrove outside, call in the incident. But before he could go back in for Terry, or to find me or John, the house exploded. He also claimed he believed he saw someone fleeing.”
“That about sums up what I remember from it,” Anson agreed.
“One of the prevailing theories is I grew panicked, or perhaps bored, and contacted the Volkovs to make a deal. They tracked me to the safe house, and I fought with Terry as I tried to get out. Either I or persons unknown associated with the Volkovs shot John, fired on Keegan and Cosgrove, and I either escaped in the confusion or was taken. The assassins then blew up the house to cover their tracks—or I did it.”
“A sixteen-year-old girl getting the draw on two marshalsandblowing up a house.” Brooks shook his head. “I wouldn’t buy it.”
“A highly intelligent girl who’d been trained personally by one of those marshals in firearms, who’d requested and received five thousand in cash from her trust fund, who’d forged IDs, had spent a summer while the legal wheel slowly turned, thinking about what would happen to her once shetestified.” The logic of it stood firmly enough for Abigail. “It’s reasonable to believe that girl snapped, tried to make it all go away.”
